Jump Start My Heart {South}

Deception Hammond

If I sold this guitar and a piece of my heart for you,
Would you hop on a bus and leave just because?
Would you?

They tell me I shouldn't even bother with my dreams. That the odds of them actually happening are exactly zero. So pack up the guitar, buddy, and go home. But I won't go home. I will hold fast to my dreams, because they are all I have. They are real to me, more real than my multiple girlfriends, drunk uncle, and house full of yowling dogs. None of that feels so real to me. Here, under the moonlight, sipping a stolen bottle of Harvard's beer, my dreams seem like the only thing worth clinging to. I tilt my head back and look up at the stars, tiny little pinpricks that shine through the leaves of the tree I'm leaning against. I close my eyes, marveling in the silence I've found out here in the field nearly a mile from the house. Everything here is quiet and perfect and simple. Which is something I can only wish for in my life.

}~{

The dogs are already howling by the time I wake up. Harvard is shouting at me to take them out for a walk. I push my pillow over my face, pretend for a moment that I'm someone else, somewhere else. I live in the Capitol. I play guitar for people. They love my music. I have only one girlfriend, and I am not afraid of being alone. I am happy with who I am. Harvard shouts at me again, louder this time, and I can't pretend anymore. I'm Dep again, just Dep, and I'm not happy with who I am. I don't like the life I live. but it suffocates me. I can't escape. I've been this person for too long, and I can't just stop now. It's not that easy.

Chucking my pillow across the room, I get out of bed and pull on some clothes. As soon as I step out the door, Harvard shoves a bundle of dog leashes at me, about seven of them, and all attached to dogs. Growling, yipping, barking dogs. He says nothing, just gets out of my way. His message is clear enough to me. He's got a killer hangover and wants the dogs out of the house and shut up. Dep gets to deal with it, and he doesn't get to eat breakfast until the dogs are taken care of. I've learned not to sigh as I head out the door, dragged forward by the dogs. Harvard gets mad when I sigh, because he assumes it means I'm not grateful for the life I live. Like it means I'm not thankful that he took me in after my parents got run over by a herd of cattle.

The dogs try to pull in seven different directions at once. I let them pull at their individual leashes for a moment before they each turn around and stare at me, their eyes asking why they aren't moving forward. I meet eyes with each of them, then start tugging them off to the field so they crap their little hearts out. Part of the field is enclosed, and it's far enough away from the house that the if the dogs bark, it won't be hear very easily at the house. The enclosure's big enough to fit all the dogs and still has plenty of room for them all to run around. So instead of walking them like Harvard's asked, I turn them loose. Then I go back to the house and gather up six more dogs, putting them in the enclosure as well.

Half an hour later, I've filled a water bucket up in the enclosure and fed the dogs there. I've also gone around to the back of the house where there's a smaller enclosure. Inside this one is a female dog and her small litter of four puppies. The puppies are big enough to run around and play with each other, but not big enough to be with the other dogs. Only one dog is left in the house, and that's for two reasons. One, because she's Harvard's favorite. She never barks and never bites, and her puppies always go for the most money. Another reason she's in the house is because she's about two days away from giving birth to another one of her prized litters.

I grab a banana for breakfast and a bottle of water, then get my guitar case from my room. "I'm going out," I tell Harvard. "The dogs are all fed and watered." He nods to show he's heard, and I head out the front door. I didn't used to go into town so much, but lately it's become an almost daily thing for me. I love being at home, but there's always something to do in town, where all the shops and businesses are. There's a new crowd to play for every day.

I head to the park, my usual destination. There are a few people here, some alone, some with a friend. There's a young couple sitting underneath the shade of a tree, watching two kids not any older than three or four as they run around. Following the gravel path, I come to the bench I usually go to. I set my guitar case next to me as I eat my banana. After I finish it off and toss the peel in a garbage nearby, I pull out my guitar.

The first thing I do is play a few chords. I always do this to warm up. I absently pluck at a few strings as I try to think of what to play. One of the old songs, or something I wrote? I decide to do one I wrote a while ago that's been on my mind lately. It's slow and lazy, my favorite kind of song.

I thought love was beautiful,
Not something undefined.
Have I been doing alright,
Or did something slip my mind?
We've been so stressed it seems,
I think we need time to unwind.

So tell me,
Where did it go wrong?
When did we decide that we'd
Stop loving like a song?
Maybe we went too fast,
But now we can't slow down.
We've fallen apart it seems,
So it's time to say, "So long."

When the song is over, I set my guitar back in its case, but I don't close it. I might play something again later, but for now I need to think. I need to figure out how to get myself out of this. How to make myself stop feeling like shit, because it seems like that's happening way too often lately. I just want to look at myself and be happy with who I am. I don't want to have three or four girlfriends at once. If I could, I'd just leave them all. But I can't. I can't willingly let myself be alone. The thought of being alone is worse than anything else I can imagine. Dogs peeing on my guitar? No problem. Alcoholic guardian? Piece of cake. Making sure none of my girlfriends know about each other? A breeze. But being alone...Well, that would just be too lonely.

Are these dreams overrated?
Running from myself.